“More places for vermin to hide.” Penny sounded groggy.
“Did you get much sleep?” He held her hand as they moved fast uphill.
“I went out pretty fast after you left, but I’ve got no idea how long you’ve been gone.”
“Too long. I hated splitting up. I abandoned you for the sake of speed, but you’re mostly more help than if I’m alone. I’m sorry about leaving you.”
She squeezed his hand. “The sleep did me some good. Maybe you can get a chance to rest once we get under cover.”
John rubbed one hand over his face as he moved along. The sun edged over the horizon. “I could use some sleep, but I have a lot of things I need to do today, and none of them allows for a nap. I need time to think and to examine that record book. And—”
Movement out of the corner of his eye shut him up. He moved sideways to put a pile of rocks between him and whoever was over there. He hunkered down, waiting to make sure the coast was clear.
“It’s a cow,” Penny whispered. “But hold up, maybe it’s being herded.”
John remembered how tough his wife was. This might almost qualify as the wilderness up here in these old shacks that were long abandoned as Virginia City climbed down the hill and prosperity brought bigger homes. The huts up here were mostly empty. He’d overheard that talk yesterday when he was shopping, so hopefully the killer didn’t know John had heard of them.
The hovels that were inhabited mostly housed old drunks and ladies of the evening who were broken down by hard years and a fondness for gin.
“It’s clear. Let’s move.” Penny must have a better angle on the cow than John did. He trusted her enough to not check himself. He headed onward, up and up. They reached their destination just as the first rays of the sun spilled over the land. The cabin had a door and most of a roof. Which was more than you could say for a lot of them. The thick dust and gaping squares where windows or shutters should have been attested to the building being abandoned. He got inside, feeling pursued.
The furniture was a sad thing, but there was a table and some kind of dry sink built into one wall. And in the back corner of the one-room shack was a bed frame with a moldering straw-filled mattress.
Vermin indeed.
“I promise if I showed you some of the others I found, you’d be thrilled with this.”
Penny gave a soft chuckle. “I’ve lived rough on the frontier, John. I bunked with Trace, Deb, Gwen, and the children in a two-bedroom cabin half of last winter. I slept on the floor with a bedroll and a blanket and was grateful to be near a fire. Then on a bitter-cold winter day, that cabin burned down.”
“You’re lucky to have gotten out.”
“Cam carried me out while I was unconscious, overcome by smoke. Then all six of us moved into a bunkhouse that already had three men in it, including my brother. This time I shared a room with Gwen and the two youngsters. I got the floor again. A beat-up mattress and a cabin with a faulty roof doesn’t scare me much. I can face discomfort and harsh weather. It’s men that seem to be where most of the trouble comes from.”
“That’s the plain truth.” John slid one arm around her shoulders. “I need some time with this notebook.”
She felt the weight of his arm, drawing her attention because it was so heavy. She saw lines of exhaustion on his face. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but he hadn’t gotten a moment.
“You’re so tired your eyes are gonna cross trying to read. It’s still mighty early. Let me beat on that mattress and drive out any critters, then you can get some shut-eye. Even an hour or two will help. You’re not going to get through the day without sleep.”
John nodded without comment. He dropped his satchels, including that gunnysack with her dress. She wondered what he’d draw out of those magical packs next.
She made sure the mattress didn’t have any visitors. And it didn’t. This hovel was so bad even mice and rats were too good for it.
But the dust had settled in happily.
She cleared it out without being a fanatic about it, and John lay down and said, “Come here. I wasn’t gone that long, about half an hour. You need sleep, too.”
She’d worried about sleeping arrangements before, hesitating over two people and one bed. But right now, she was so tired that she didn’t think twice. She lay down, with her back to him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, and she marveled at how nice it felt to be snuggled up against him on the cool mountain morning.
“This can’t be the trail to Payne’s mansion.” Florence snorted. Perfect name for this place. “No man living in a mansion would put up with it. Not only that, he’d have workmen hauling in materials and furniture. He’d need a wide enough trail to get a wagon through.”
The trail was so steep and narrow that branches slapped her in the face and scrub brush underfoot threatened to trip her horse.
“You’re the one who got directions.” Edmond—in the lead—fought the reins of the nag he’d been given. Florence had trusted him to get the horses. He’d gone to a big barn in town and come back with these two ancient mares. Clearly he got cheated. The horses were balky, given to biting, eager to stop. Florence wished for a riding crop and the English saddle she’d ridden in back east—on the rare occasion when she’d ridden at all.
“You saw him point to this trail the same as I did. And he said it’d take us right to the house. He said there weren’t any forks in the trail so just keep going up, then down the other side.” Then Florence reached a high peak and gasped at her first sight of Lake Tahoe.
Edmond had gotten there first, but she hadn’t paid attention to his silence. Now she understood it. In a reverent voice Florence barely recognized, for there wasn’t much reverent about him, Edmond said, “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Even she, who’d seen the most beautiful things money could buy, had to pause and absorb the shining lake up here at the top of a mountain. The crystal blue water reflected everything perfectly. The stones surrounding the lake, the ring of pine trees. Beyond the trees, the snowcapped peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Clouds scudded overhead, and as they moved through the sky, they sailed across the surface of Lake Tahoe.
When she finally managed to look somewhere besides that pure picture reflected in the lake, her eyes dropped to the shore right beneath their feet, and she saw a huge wall. No house was visible, not even from where they stood on high ground. But a wall this massive had to guard a mansion.
“We’ve found it, Edmond.” Finally, someone worthy of the Chiltons’ social position. Someone with taste. Someone wise enough to show the world how wealthy he was.
Her husband, still stunned by the view of Lake Tahoe, tore his eyes away from the beauty, saw her pointing, and followed the direction.
“That’s nothing but a giant fence. . . . Can we get through it?”
Florence scowled at her husband. “Bolling wouldn’t have sent us here if we couldn’t. There must be a gate.”
“I don’t see a gate anywhere.” Edmond shook his head, frowning.
“We just have to get closer.” She was so excited that she quit paying attention to the trail. Florence kicked her horse to get moving toward the mansion, and the horse balked, kicked out its heels, and tossed Florence right over its head.
She landed hard right on her back and got the wind knocked out of her. Skidding down the slope she’d so recently stood atop, she hit a tree, grabbed at it—missed—rolled like a log down the stony hill, and then went airborne. Bushes and branches clawed at her skin. She struck rocks and flew over drop-offs. She was battered all the way down. Fighting to draw breath, she barely saw the water as she plunged in.
Freezing cold, brutally cold. What little breath she had whooshed out. She hit the bottom and shoved herself up. She couldn’t stop the gasp for breath.
Drowning was a terrible way to die. Except . . . she wasn’t drowning.
In fact, her head was above the water. Scrambling, she got up on h
er hands and knees in about two feet of water. Really cold water. She’d inhaled enough of it that she coughed and heaved. She staggered to her feet, her dress limp and weighing three times what it should.
She stumbled toward the shore, only a few steps away, hacking up water. She was knee deep, then ankle deep, and then she tripped over a boulder and landed on sand.
Warm sand, thank heavens. Her coughing fit slowed, and she got breath into her aching lungs.
“Florence, are you all right?” Edmond picked his way down on foot very carefully, and that was probably necessary. But he’d done a fine job of taking plenty of time. She’d had to take care of herself just like she’d done her whole life. Shivering from the drenching ice bath, she used another boulder—heaven knew there were plenty of them—and got to her feet.
Edmond arrived at her side just as she looked up and up . . . and up . . . at a massive wall made of the same kind of boulders she’d been bouncing off of a few seconds ago. The wall looked absolutely impenetrable. The woods had been cut back well away from the fortress. On her left, climbing the steep incline, the wall went on for maybe two hundred feet, though Florence was no judge of such things. To her right, the wall stretched into the lake, far enough out that it was most likely in deep water. Cold deep water, and she saw no way around it.
“Get off Payne land.” The shout was followed by the crack of a rifle. A rustle from above drew her attention to see the horses they’d rented bolt for town.
Florence had little experience with guns, but she turned to see a large man striding toward them, his gun aimed and cocked. Without being asked, Florence raised both hands high in surrender. She watched the man like she’d watch an approaching rattlesnake.
Florence also noted that Edmond had kept his head enough to grab the satchels containing their gold and jewels. It was the first sensible thing the man had ever done. And that most definitely included marrying her. That hadn’t shown much sense at all.
And now an armed man was going to rob them or kill them or both. And while she watched him and tried to decide which he’d do, she began to shiver with a cold so bone-deep she wondered what she’d die of first.
“You’re searching for a woman named Deb Harkness and a man named Trace Riley?” Luther Payne did his genial best not to let the gloating show on his face. “To retrieve your grandson from them?”
“Yes, do you know these folks? Can you tell us where to find them?”
Luther started to speak just as a quiet knock came on his office door. “Come in.”
The man who’d brought these two useful fools in at gunpoint was now serving them coffee and sandwiches. Luth had sent his cook and daily maid home with instructions not to come back until they were summoned. The Chiltons seemed to be over the gun and eager to be treated as honored guests.
Luther wondered if anyone back east would notice when they went missing. He made a note to himself to sink their bodies deep.
“I know Trace Riley. Not personally, of course, but it’s a small world out west. We country folks know our neighbors for miles around.”
Truth was, Raddo had mentioned Riley and Harkness. Two witnesses he wanted to kill. Luther knew Riley had helped bring in Raddo’s body.
The two folks he kidnapped had escaped and were now asking awkward questions in Virginia City that would almost certainly lead them to him. And he knew of Cameron Scott and his new wife, Gwen, and their two children . . . including one, Ronnie Scott, whom these people wanted. Now he had the perfect people to blame when his fist came crashing down on all of them.
Luther liked to think he was subtle. Ruthless, but subtle. Most of the wealthy mine owners in Virginia City knew him well enough to never cross him and to keep their mouths shut and look at anyone but Luther when a competitor had a convenient accident or vanished.
“Between them they live in two separate locations, though not that far apart. Riley’s place isn’t where the children are staying. They are in the care of Cameron Scott.”
Florence Chilton shuddered. “Dreadful man. He can’t be allowed to raise our grandson. He’s been gone from Ronnie all his life. A complete stranger.”
Luth wondered how well the kid knew these two.
“Let’s eat and relax while you tell me what you know about your grandson. We’ll have no trouble collecting him. I’m personal friends with a few lawmen, so we’ll have the authority to get your grandson back. It shouldn’t take long, and in the meantime you can make yourselves comfortable. I live a rustic life here, of course, but I value privacy, and the beauty of this place is spectacular.”
In truth, the beauty wasn’t something he thought about. But the privacy was unequaled. It suited him to live in an easily guarded backcountry within half a day’s ride to Virginia City and a couple of hours to Carson City. Pushing hard on a fast horse he could make it even faster. And he often did. He wasn’t that far from the Cameron Scott homestead, either.
“I have only a cook and maid, but they don’t come in today.” The Chiltons didn’t know what orders had been given.
Florence nodded her head with the dignity of a queen getting her due. “I’d appreciate it if you’d send one of your men for our bags at the boardinghouse in Ringo.”
“The men are out working right now.” Spying on Cameron Scott. “But I’ll send one as soon as he’s available.”
Gruffly, Edmond said, “Thank you.”
While he entertained them with stories of the Wild West, he noted the way Florence had clung to her two satchels. They seemed unusually heavy, and since she admitted she didn’t have any clothes, he had to wonder what was in them that she valued so highly. Considering the type of greedy fool she appeared to be, he could only guess she’d laid up significant treasures here on earth.
Luth would enjoy confiscating whatever wealth she’d clung to. He’d wait and take it after she and her husband were beyond complaining about its loss.
CHAPTER
20
“Five names in all.” John snapped the little book closed. “And these records look thorough. I’m guessing these are the only men who bought Hessian boots from that store in recent years. And I was told last night that this is the only man in town who sells them.”
“I’d have said we can’t be sure our villain hadn’t gone to San Francisco to get his boots, if not for the murder last night.” Penny dug food out of her bag. She’d restocked at home and was glad for it now. “Killing that shopkeeper showed the kind of ruthless, cold-blooded villain we’re up against. But it was also foolish. That murder is an admission that we’re on the right track, don’t you think?”
John opened two of the cases he’d been dragging around after him for years. “I have no absolute proof . . . nothing that would hold up in court, but yes, we’re on the right track. That man dying last night proves it to me beyond any doubt. And I’m going to find the man who killed him and see him hanged.”
He pulled out a coat, worn but high quality. A specially made vest, a white shirt, and the small hard case that held one of the great tricks of his trade.
“What are you doing?” She glanced up from where she dug in her bag.
He had married a marvel. That woman could keep them alive forever with the contents of that old leather bag.
John smiled at his wife. He’d just slept next to her for the first time, not that anything had happened, but it was a turning point. It was trust.
He’d savored the comfort of having this pretty, tough, smart, likable woman in his arms. He intended to keep her there, but right now he didn’t have time to do more than solve this case.
“I’m turning myself into a sixty-year-old fat man who’s down on his luck. A completely unremarkable, unmemorable man who can walk around Virginia City and listen and learn without anyone knowing.”
Penny continued her diligent search for whatever it was she had in there. He had no doubt she could find anything. But she delicately cleared her throat. “Um . . . I’m sure you know your business, John.”
/> With every heavily doubtful word she spoke, she said she was sure he did not know his business.
“And maybe in the dark, among strangers, for a short time, someone will believe you’re an old fat man. But you are a young, fit, handsome man. Intelligence shines out of your eyes. No one could be near you for long and not notice.”
He smiled, loving every word. She might not exactly know it, but she’d just said words that made a man feel proud. Of course, she was wrong.
“Would you like to place a bet on that?”
She sat up straight and her brow lowered. “I don’t gamble. It’s sinful.”
One corner of John’s mouth curled up when he thought of all the chances they’d taken lately and how willingly she’d gone along. She gambled, all right. A person didn’t need a deck of cards, a saloon, or a roulette wheel to be a gambler.
John had shaved just last night for the restaurant. He regretted not having a couple of weeks to prepare for this new disguise because a neglected, unshaven face was the most natural makeup in the world. But he simply didn’t have time.
He opened the first case and pulled out the theatrical whiskers and the stage makeup.
“Prepare to be amazed, Mrs. McCall.”
Penny had entered this cabin with a young, handsome, intelligent man. Now she shared it with an old, really tall, and fat and . . . yes, she had to say it . . . stupid . . . man.
And she didn’t mean stupid as an insult. In fact, it was amazing. Somehow, he’d wiped that gleam of sharp wit from his eyes. He walked differently. He talked differently.
He’d added dirt and some of the contents of the mattress to strange padding he pulled out of his suitcase. Then he donned that padding like a suit of clothes. He showed her something he called lifts, which he put in his shoes to make him taller . . . and he was already a tall man.
He stuck wads of what looked like cotton bandages rolled in small, tight balls into his mouth. It fattened his face and slurred his speech, adding to the impression of low intelligence. He put grizzled hair on his face that looked like neglected, shaggy sideburns. He’d smeared dirt and some strange pot of something on his face, so he looked like he hadn’t washed in weeks. A droopy, bedraggled hat helped shield his face and cast shadows on his handiwork.
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